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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27141499">Dream in my Pocket (Never let it fade away)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatsAreFluffy/pseuds/BatsAreFluffy'>BatsAreFluffy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Like tears in the rain [20]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, Justice League (2017), Superman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alfred injured, Day 19: Grief, Hospitals are so well organized, M/M, Whumptober 2020, no one dies, panic attack (mnetioned), really anticipated grief, we all love Alfred</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:48:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>788</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27141499</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatsAreFluffy/pseuds/BatsAreFluffy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Did Dr. Ottman not come by earlier?” At Bruce’s jerked off shake, the surgeon motioned towards the chairs. “Let’s sit down, Mister Wayne.”</p>
<p>A sequel to"Just as I begin to Fade"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alfred Pennyworth &amp; Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Like tears in the rain [20]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950151</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Dream in my Pocket (Never let it fade away)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A direct continuation of " Just as I begin to fade"</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Mr. Wayne?”</p>
<p>Bruce jerked around, out of Clark’s hold. “Yes?” he asked, chest constricting. There was a medical professional in the door, scrubs dull yellow in the florescent lighting.</p>
<p>“I’m Dr. McClane, the surgeon who operated on your ...” she trailed off, unsure.</p>
<p>“On Alfred,” Bruce supplied, stepping closer. “Where is he?”</p>
<p>“He’s in recovery. They’ll take him up to his room on seven in about an hour.”</p>
<p>Clark relaxed behind him. Bruce didn’t understand; his tired mind was whirling with conflicting information. “The cardiac ward is on fifteen, why is he in general surgery?”</p>
<p>She shook her head. “It wasn’t a cardiac arrest. Did Dr. Ottman not come by earlier?” At Bruce’s jerked off shake, she motioned towards the chairs. “Let’s sit down, Mister Wayne.”</p>
<p>Bruce balked, about to say something, when Clark put his hand gently on the billionaire’s air. “Listen to her, Bruce.”</p>
<p>After they were all seated, she began. “When Mr. Pennyworth was brought into emergency, he was already conscious, albeit in a great deal of pain. He told us he’d been experiencing sudden pain on his right side, and thought it nothing more than gallstones. Blood work came back normal. However, a more in depth CT scan showed tearing in the diaphragm just in front of his liver. We performed a scope test, and found the damage quite easily.”</p>
<p>“A ruptured diaphragm, normally caused by blunt force trauma, likely to affect to young males, car accidents a leading cause of injury – “</p>
<p>Clark shushed him. “It’s alright, Bruce, let’s hear the rest of what the doctor has to say.”</p>
<p>“His medical records showed that he’d been admitted 72 days ago for a rather high fall. I suspect that the initial tear occurred then, and has been progressively getting worse as time passed. These sorts of mild tears are often missed in the initial scans.” She stood up, reaching out a hand for a final handshake. “He’ll be released into care after a few days.”</p>
<p>Clark stood behind Bruce, a hand on his elbow. “What’s the recovery time like?” he asked for Bruce, who was stock still.</p>
<p>“He should be back on restricted movement in about two weeks. Bed rest isn’t mandatory after the initial healing time is done. He’ll be fine if he listens to doctor’s orders. You should probably head up in a few minutes. I’m sure you’re anxious to see him.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Clark murmured, pulling Bruce back a few feet. As the door closed behind the surgeon, Bruce’s legs gave way. Clark’s arms were waiting, drawing him against his chest.</p>
<p>“It wasn’t his heart,” Bruce slurred. “It wasn’t his heart.”</p>
<p>Clark nodded, tucking the older man’s face into the crook of his neck. So what if he had to levitate a little to get to height right? That’s what tip toes were for. “It wasn’t,” he agreed.</p>
<p>“He’s ... he’s going to... he’s coming home...”</p>
<p>Clark shushed him, stroking the silver strands. “Yeah, he will. When you’re ready, we’ll go upstairs, ok? We’ll wait up there for him. That sound like a plan?”</p>
<p>Bruce nodded, leaning on Clark as his legs still wouldn’t hold him. “Need to see ... need, Clark?”</p>
<p>Clark smiled softly. “As soon as you can walk, we’ll go up. Together.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**</p>
<p>Rough blankets, heavy on his chest. Faint beeping, and horrid voices over the intercom – <em>ah yes, hospital</em>. The last few hours were swimming back into memory – and yes, the breathing tube was out, the cuff around his bicep was gone, and he wearing what passed by only the vaguest definition for clothes.</p>
<p>
  <em>So, out of surgery, past Recovery, most likely in a room upstairs, then. </em>
</p>
<p>There was faint snores coming from his hip.</p>
<p>Lifting heavy eyelids, Alfred was thankful for the dim lights. A slow head tilt, and, yes, there was Bruce. Still in his fine tailored suit, head pillowed on a jacket that wasn’t his. Passed out, leaning against the bed, as he had since he was a lad. There was a pause, Bruce frowning in his sleep. Then he snuffled slightly, rubbing his cheek into the plaid coat, and drifted down again.</p>
<p>“You should get some more sleep,” another voice murmured beside him.</p>
<p>Tilting his head the other way took more effort than it ought to have. Clark was crouched down on the other side of the bed.</p>
<p>“He’s been worried about you. Going in and out of a full panic all night.”</p>
<p>Alfred frowned, worried. He tried to say something, but Clark shushed him. “Just get a little more sleep, until the morning rounds. Then we’ll wake him up. Sound good?” Clark smiled softly at the bare nod. “I’ll be here when you both wake up, alright?”</p>
<p>Alfred breathed out a sigh, and slipped back to sleep.</p>
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